Dylan watching was hotter than I’d expected, hotter, almost, than I could take, and I squeezed my clit between my fingers.
“Does that feel good?” he asked.
I nodded, squeezing it harder and then letting it go. In time with my heartbeat.
Slowly, he reached forward and touched the top trembling edge of my breast, just where it rose above my camisole. Just his finger there across that small curve.
I jumped. Startled, shocked even. His eyes were locked on mine and I couldn’t look away. My fingers under my panties slipped farther, lower, until I was inside of myself, reaching deep and high and as hard as I could.
That had always felt good. Always been enough. But somehow with his eyes on me, with his hand on my breast, it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
“Dylan…” I breathed, hoping he’d understand and he’d just do it. Just push my hands out of the way and take over. That’s what I needed him to do, because the things I did alone in my trailer, they weren’t enough. Not nearly enough.
“You can do it,” he said, cupping my whole breast in his hand, his thumb right over the hard edge of my nipple.
“But I want you.”
His face was flushed. Blotchy, almost. His jaw as hard as granite.
“I want you to fill me up,” I whispered.
But all he did was press my nipple between his thumb and finger and pinch it, slowly building up the pressure until I groaned. Until I felt like I was being pulled into pieces.
“More,” I begged. “More…”
“Keep going,” he told me, and I lifted my hips up off the chair.
“Dylan—”
“This is what you get,” he breathed. “All you get right now.”
Oh God. Fuck him. My face twisted and I lifted my other hand, using both between my legs, keeping up that heartbeat on my clit, and slipping two other fingers inside of myself.
Between the look on his face and my hands between my legs I was lost in the pleasure, swept up in some kind of endless tide, and then he squeezed my nipple as hard as I could take it, as if he knew the very specific calibrations of pain and pleasure in my body, and I screamed. I screamed and arched up off that chair.
The orgasm went on and on. Until finally I collapsed back against the leather. Boneless and strange. Different.
I opened my eyes and found him watching me and tenderness unspooled in my chest. Something living and vibrant, a wild…affection for him.
It was startling and awful. The wrong thing at the wrong time. And I felt myself flinch away from his eyes. Away from his touch.
“Annie?”
I took a breath, another, trying to rein myself in. Find my footing.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Best one yet,” I said with a wide, ecstatic smile, hoping he wouldn’t look past it at the strange panic I was feeling.
It’s just the sex, I told myself. You’re all twisted up because it feels so good and he helped you get it. That’s all it was.
I really, really wanted to believe that. But somehow, nearly naked in front of him, the air between us smelling like sex, I couldn’t…couldn’t commit to it.
He was staring at me, as if he could see what I was thinking, read my thoughts like a book. I put my feet back on the floor, shifting so my underwear wasn’t cutting up into me.
“Maybe,” I whispered, my voice still shaking. Sweat still dripping down from my hairline. “I should—”
He fell down onto his knees between my legs and reached an arm around my hips and pulled me hard against him.
I squeaked, startled. That soft wet place between my legs, still pulsing with blood, twitching still with pleasure, was tight up against the hard length of his erection in his jeans. He dropped his hand down to my ass and pushed me harder against him.
“Feel that?” he asked.
My mouth dry, my brain dumb, I nodded.
“Every time I talk to you, that’s how I get,” he said.
He ground us together and I flinched and gasped at the same time.
“Sore?” he asked me, and pushed back slightly like he was ready to give me a second. But his eyes said only a second.